


What Loving Someone Really Means

by hpstrangelove



Category: Whyborne and Griffin - Jordan L. Hawk
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2014-12-20
Packaged: 2018-03-02 13:01:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2812934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hpstrangelove/pseuds/hpstrangelove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Griffin is hurt on a case, Whyborne ponders what loving someone really means.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Loving Someone Really Means

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lessthanpie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lessthanpie/gifts).



> SPOILERS FOR BLOODLINE
> 
> A big thank you to my friend, joanwilder, for the quick beta.
> 
> Dear lessthanpie, 
> 
> I had planned a sweet Christmas Eve story for these two, their first one as a married couple. Well, that story had to be set aside once I found out Ms. Hawk had written her own Christmas Eve story. Instead, I came up with a case fic for Griffin. I had great fun writing it. Thank you for requesting Whyborne and Griffin. I hope you enjoy it.

**What Loving Someone Really Means**

 

“I have a bad feeling about this,” Whyborne began. “I want to be there with you. You should not be going alone.”

“It’s just a routine surveillance job,” Griffin replied. “The police don’t have time to sit around watching a warehouse, so the owner hired me to do it. As soon as I see someone enter, I’m to summon the police and let them do the dangerous work of apprehending the intruder. I’ve already made Detective Tilton aware of the plan.”

“Isn’t that warehouse in the same area where they’ve recently found some bodies?”

“They find bodies in that area all the time. It’s cold this time of year and, sadly, the homeless have nowhere else to go. They fall asleep in a doorway, the temperature drops below freezing, and they simply don’t wake up.”

“I don’t like it. That’s a bad part of town to be alone in at night.”

Griffin sighed. Whyborne had been overly protective like this ever since the night of the private tours, when Griffin had been shot. Griffin did his best to reassure Whyborne, but the fact of the matter was that Griffin’s cases, dull most of the time, could also be quite dangerous.

But he’d been trained by the Pinkertons and knew no other line of work. He couldn’t just up and quit his job because he might get hurt. Whyborne worked as a comparative philologist at the Nathaniel R. Ladysmith Museum, a job which most would consider safe and unexciting, yet he’d been shot during the Egyptian Gala two years ago while attempting to stop the theft of an ancient scroll. Should Whyborne quit his job because he might get hurt? Of course not. Whyborne would think the suggestion ludicrous.

Griffin reached up, placing his hands on Whyborne’s shoulders. “My dear, please do not worry. This is my job. I will be careful and not take any unnecessary risks. If this case required your skills as a sorcerer, I wouldn’t hesitate to bring you along. But you have your own work to do. I could be out all night and if you came with me, you’d be no use at the museum tomorrow.”

Whyborne stared at Griffin a moment, then leaned down and kissed him quickly on the lips. “I’m sorry. I know you’re right. It’s just, I – well, have this feeling of foreboding. The thought of losing you, of having my life return to the way things were before we met…”

“I’ll be fine, Ival. Don’t wait up for me – it could be hours. I promise to wake you when I get home.”

Griffin gave Whyborne one last smile. Then he was gone, closing the door behind him.

~*~

Griffin felt miserable. The cold seeped through his coat and straight into his bones. The weather wasn’t the cause of his distress, though. It was his argument with Whyborne earlier that evening, and the guilt he felt at not being quite honest about the job tonight.

Griffin hadn’t lied, exactly, but he hadn’t told the truth either. There had been a string of burglaries, all at warehouses owned by the same company. The last one had resulted in a worker being beaten unconscious and left for dead when he’d interrupted the thief. The police had investigated but had no leads – the worker hadn’t seen his attacker. The case had come to a standstill, so the manager of the warehouses had contacted Griffin. Based on Griffin’s review of the prior burglaries, he expected that the next warehouse to be robbed would be this one on Front Street. 

Griffin checked his watch. It was almost two o’clock. The night was eerily quiet, the drizzle having a dampening effect on nearby sounds. He thought he heard a shuffling noise to his right. Keeping perfectly still, he held his breath, watching the warehouse door…

A loud cry broke the silence. Griffin jumped back, hand on his cane as something dark landed on the ground at his feet.

A big black tom cat, its mouth clamped down around a small rat, took off across the street, disappearing into the shadows.

Griffin’s heart pounded loudly; he was sure Whyborne could hear it all the way back at their home. He took several deep breaths, trying to get himself under control.

He heard the shuffling noise again. His eyes narrowed as he tried to see into the mist…

There! A man, dressed all in black, was moving towards the door of the warehouse. 

Griffin felt another twinge of guilt. He’d told Whyborne the plan was to get the police and they’d be the ones to apprehend the thief. He hadn’t been lying when he’d said he’d told Detective Tilton of the plan. He just hadn’t added that Tilton had said by the time it would take them to arrive at the warehouse, the thief would no doubt be long gone. If Griffin wanted to catch the thief, then Griffin would have to be the one to do so.

Griffin watched as the man picked the lock, then entered the warehouse, leaving the door slightly ajar. Earlier in the day, Griffin had checked the door to be sure the hinges were well oiled and silent. Taking out his gun, Griffin followed the man inside.

It took several moments for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. He could see the glow from a lantern and made his way toward it, keeping hidden as best he could behind storage crates, boxes, and other various pieces of machinery. He got close enough to see the lantern set on a work bench, but there was no sign of the thief.

He sensed it before it happened. He dropped to the ground but wasn’t able to avoid the blow, a heavy iron pry bar hitting his gun hand. He cried out as pain shot through his arm, the gun clattering to the floor and skidding out of reach.

He rolled over as the pry bar clanged against the cement where his head had just been. A man loomed over him, the pry bar coming down…

Griffin tried to roll again, but this time wasn’t fast enough. The full force of the iron smashed against his side. He grunted in pain, unable to catch his breath. He tried to crawl away, but it was no use. His attacker hit him again, and again, and again…

Eventually, the beating stopped. Griffin was conscious but too dazed by the pain to move. He felt blood trickling out the side of his mouth and wondered how he could possibly still be alive. He had to have broken ribs, maybe even a punctured lung. 

His attacker knelt down, straddling Griffin’s body. He grabbed Griffin’s wrists and pinned them against the ground, over Griffin’s head. The movement caused tears to well in Griffin’s eyes. He wanted to beg the man to stop, to leave him alone, but he couldn’t take a deep enough breath to make the words come out.

“We knew you’d be the one they’d send. You don’t know me, or my colleagues, but we know all about you, Mr. Griffin Flaherty.”

Griffin stared up at the man, but he didn’t recognize him. Was he one of the Brotherhood who hadn’t been present, or had escaped, that night on the island? Had he been a member of the Eyes of Nodens? Or worse, had the Endicotts managed to get word back to England about Whyborne? Had this man been sent to clean up Widdershins? 

“It doesn’t matter. You’re a means to an end. We hold no ill will against you, and I’m especially sorry to have to kill someone as lovely as you.” The man reached down with his free hand, caressing Griffin softly along the side of his face. Griffin shuddered at the touch. 

“Your death will have quite the negative affect on poor Dr. Whyborne. His grief will leave him vulnerable, and that’s when we’ll strike.”

Griffin could only watch in horror as the man reached down to his boot, pulling out a wicked-looking knife. 

This wasn’t how Griffin wanted to die. He’d thought he was dealing with a common thief, a run-of-the-mill string of burglaries. He should have taken Whyborne’s concerns seriously and not discarded the fact that there were other-worldly forces at work in their lives, that if Whyborne sensed something was wrong, there was a _reason_ for it.

Griffin made one last effort to pull free from the man’s hold, but he simply did not have the strength. 

“I’m sorry, Mr. Flaherty. I’d like to make this quick, but I can’t. The more painful your death, the more distraught Dr. Whyborne will be when he sees your body. His love for you will be his downfall.”

The man brought the knife to Griffin’s face. Griffin instinctively turned his head away, gritting his teeth, readying himself for the pain the knife would cause as it cut into his skin.

“I love you, Ival,” Griffin said, barely above a whisper. 

Cold steel touched his cheek…

_Bang!_

_Bang, bang!_

Griffin started at the sound. The pressure of the knife eased, then it clattered to the ground. Griffin turned his head to look up at the man. Dark, inky spots of red spread out and soaked the man’s shirt. 

A look of shocked disbelief appeared on the man’s face, then his eyes went glassy. The man’s body fell to Griffin’s side. 

Standing above them, holding Griffin’s gun in his hand – was Whyborne.

For a moment, Whyborne didn’t move. Then he fell to his knees at Griffin’s side.

“I’m sorry,” Whyborne croaked, his body trembling. “Please, forgive me. I know you didn’t want me to come, but I couldn’t help it. It was as if someone were screaming at me in my head, telling me over and over that you needed my help. I tried to ignore it, but it was impossible.”

Using the last of his strength, Griffin managed a pained smile as he took hold of Whyborne’s hand.

Then his world went black and he knew no more.

~*~

Whyborne sat in front of the fire, a glass of whiskey in his hand, watching Griffin sleeping peacefully. He rarely drank, and never during the day. But he needed something to help calm his nerves. His body was exhausted but his mind was wide awake. 

He’d spent most of the morning at the hospital. While he waited for the doctor to tend to Griffin’s wounds, he filled Detective Tilton in on the details of what had happened. The thief Griffin had been chasing had hidden amongst some crates in a warehouse. He’d taken Griffin by surprise and had hit him with a large iron pry bar, breaking several of Griffin’s ribs. As the thief made ready to kill Griffin with a knife, Whyborne had shot the thief three times in the back – he wasn’t as good a shot as Christine, and he had to be sure the thief was dead. 

The doctor had wanted to keep Griffin in the hospital, but Griffin had insisted on going home. Detective Tilton sent a policeman to escort them, and with the policeman’s help, they managed to get Griffin upstairs and into bed. 

Whyborne tried to keep his thoughts in check, but he couldn’t help but think about how bad things might have been if he’d been a few minutes later, or hadn’t gone at all.

It was as if, whenever Whyborne felt _too_ happy with their life together, something happened to remind him that loving someone had a down-side, too.

He knew much of his anxiety was a result of what had happened with Leander all those years ago. He’d vowed to never love another man again, and had kept that vow until Griffin had entered his life and had shown him what loving someone _really_ meant.

Sometimes at night, he'd wonder if it wasn’t all just a dream. He’d open his eyes and find he was in his old room, with weeks instead of years passing after Leander’s death. A feeling of dread would course through his body as he agonized over why he’d lived and Leander had died. If he hadn’t let his feelings for Leander cloud his good judgement, he could have found a way to keep Leander from going out on the lake in the storm… 

But he’d been young and foolish and more interested in impressing Leander than in their safety. Loving a man had resulted in tragedy and Whyborne would never allow it to happen again.

Then Griffin had come into his life, and nothing had been the same since.

Things between them weren’t always easy. When Whyborne had found Griffin’s research papers and a folder marked ‘Percival Endicott Whyborne’, with Griffin’s notes and proof that Griffin had known about Leander’s death from the start, Whyborne had walked away. He’d been convinced Griffin’s interest in him had been just an act, a means of ‘recruiting’ him as an ‘asset’ in Griffin’s fight against the Brotherhood. Later, when Blackbyrne had taken Whyborne down into the basement of Somerby Estate, it had been Whyborne who had to perform, to act as though he was glad at seeing Griffin, bound and beaten, the captive of the Brotherhood. 

They’d lived through that misunderstanding, and several more over the past two years. And here they were, married. Not legally, of course, but as committed to each other as any married man and woman.

The depth of his love for Griffin and the happiness they shared scared him. Griffin was his whole world. How could he go on without him? Most of Griffin’s cases were simple affairs, but occasionally, one could become unexpectedly deadly. Griffin was good at defending himself, but one day it might not be enough. 

Today was almost that day.

Whyborne took a deep breath, trying to relax. He knew better than to worry about things he couldn’t control, yet he was only human – well, half human. It seemed worrying was just a part of his nature. The trick was to not let it become overwhelming.

The fact of the matter was simple – loving Griffin meant that one day he’d lose him. The only way to avoid the pain of that loss was to stop loving Griffin, and that was unthinkable.

“Ival?”

Griffin’s eyes were open, his hand reaching out to Whyborne.

Whyborne stood, setting his glass on the table. He walked over and took Griffin’s hand in his, sitting down carefully so as not to jar the bed.

“Can I get you something? Would you like some water?”

Griffin licked his lower lip. “I just wanted to say – ” 

He stopped and grimaced, trying to catch his breath.

Whyborne placed his finger to Griffin’s lips. “Later. I’m not going anywhere, and you need to rest. Give your ribs time to heal before you start thanking me for disobeying you and saving your life.”

Griffin gave Whyborne’s hand a squeeze, then closed his eyes, falling back to sleep.

Whyborne leaned over and kissed Griffin softly on the forehead.

"I'm not going anywhere."

 

~* The End *~

2014-12-19


End file.
